


Boy Wonder

by sofia_gigante



Series: Dark Knight, Bright Son [9]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic, Drama, Established Relationship, Family, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 06:12:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11030286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofia_gigante/pseuds/sofia_gigante
Summary: "Talking to him face to face would go a lot further than tapping his phone, Bruce."Bruce doesn’t know what to do with the orphaned acrobat who’s been placed in his charge. Clark seems to have a better idea, but he doesn’t want to interfere. So, Bruce does the best he can.





	Boy Wonder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dan_G_Panterita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dan_G_Panterita/gifts).



> Big, huge THANK YOUs to my amazing beta reader Castillon, who never lets me be a lazy storyteller, no matter how badly I want to be one.
> 
> This story is for DanyedaGP, as a thank you for her support and encouragement throughout this series. Apologies for taking over a YEAR to write this fic for you!
> 
> Though it is helpful to be familiar with the previous episodes in this series, this story can definitely be enjoyed on its own.

“I should have been there.”

Clark’s arms were crossed over the big red “S” on his chest, his head bowed in sorrow.

Bruce didn’t share his grief—he was too consumed with silent fury. Not just at Clark. At himself. At the world.

He was _always_ angry.

_“Yes, you should’ve been there,”_ Bruce wanted to say. _“I had the extra ticket. But you had a meeting at the_ Planet _you didn’t want to cancel.”_

“There’s nothing you could have done,” Bruce said instead. He kept his voice flat, trying to mask the shock, the old pain welling up inside of him like a surging black tide. Clark, thankfully, remained silent. Bruce ran through the scenarios in his head again, and each time, still came up with the same answer he’d just given Clark: there really was nothing he could’ve done. Amid the circus crowd, Clark wouldn’t have been able to change into Superman quickly enough. It wasn’t fair to blame Clark.

It had only taken seconds—the snap of the ropes, the screams of the falling acrobats, the sickening thud when their bodies hit the hard ground far below. Only the wail of one horrified boy cut through the moment of shocked quiet that had echoed through the circus tent before it had filled with screams—

“Bruce?”

Bruce could feel Clark’s hand on his shoulder, but right now, he couldn’t bear the touch, the intimacy. He stepped away from his partner, retreating into the shadows of the Batcave, into the shadows in his mind.

_Amazing how much a snapping rope sounds like a gunshot._

“Don’t do this.” Clark followed behind Bruce.

“Don’t what?” Bruce growled. He fully expected Clark to protest his withdrawal. They had struggled plenty in their three years together to find the balance between duty and desire. Tonight, though, Bruce was too full of blackness to let Kal-El shine his light inside his soul.

_One minute, you’re safe, happy with your parents. The next—you’re all alone._

“Don’t torture yourself. There’s nothing you could’ve done ei—”

“Yes there is!” Bruce snarled. “I’m Batman. Gotham is my city. Even if I couldn’t have saved the acrobats in that moment, I should have put a stop to the corruption that led to the sabotage that killed that boy’s parents! They died because I didn’t do my job!”

“Bruce, you’re doing everything you can. You’ve given all of yourself to your cause.”

“Have I? Or have I let myself be distracted?” Bruce finally turned, and pinned Clark with an icy glare. He knew it was a low blow. He didn’t care.

To his credit, Clark didn’t even flinch. He had gotten used to Batman’s moods long before he’d become Bruce’s partner. He simply stared at him with a sympathetic sadness that just made Bruce even angrier.

“We can’t save everyone, Bruce. You know that as well as I do.”

“Tell that to the boy yourself. He’s asleep upstairs. See what he says to that.”

_That_ got under Clark’s skin. His lips tightened, his brow furrowed, his entire body tensed. Bruce turned his back on Clark before he could meet his eyes, see the hurt shining there. It would turn his fury into remorse, and right now Bruce—Batman—needed his rage.

Bruce walked away without another word, heading towards the Batmobile. He had a crime scene to investigate, thugs to interrogate, justice to mete out. He didn’t have the capacity to argue with Kal about the semantics of their missions. Tonight, Bruce had been reminded what happened when he let his guard down, and he didn’t intend to make that mistake again. The cost was too high.

By the time Bruce had strapped himself into his car, Clark was gone. A wave of guilt threatened to rise inside him, but Bruce barricaded it away with the memory of the boy’s stricken face. What had Commissioner Gordon said his name was when he’d relinquished him to Bruce’s care? Richard. Richard Grayson.

Bruce still wasn’t sure why he’d taken the boy in. He had no next of kin, and his parents hadn’t appointed any legal guardians for him before their death. Richard was now a ward of the state. The Batman part of Bruce told him it was to keep the key witness to the crime close by, in case Richard remembered something that would help his investigation. Deep down, though, Bruce suspected  that he’d taken Richard home because he remembered all too well how it felt to have your world shattered before your eyes, that grey free-fall of alternating numbness and grief. Bruce had had Alfred to keep him safe. Richard had no one left in the world...

Batman had failed Richard once tonight. He wouldn’t fail him again. He couldn’t bring his parents back, but he could bring his parents’ killers to justice. Batman would take on the entire Falcone crime syndicate at once if he had to.

It was the least he could do for Richard.

 

******************

Bruce hurried down the manor’s master staircase, checking his email on his smartphone. It was 2 p.m. on a Saturday, but that didn’t stop the wheels from turning at Wayne Enterprises. He needed to go in to the office for a few hours, meet with a couple of key board members, then with the CFO, and afterwards drop in on Lucius down in R&D to see the new toys he’d been developing. Batman was planning a strategic hit on a Falcone stronghold tonight, and he would need every edge he could get in this battle.

The door to the media room was wide open as Bruce passed it on the way to the dining room, and he gave a reflexive glance inside. There was Dick, sprawled out on the long, leather sofa, engrossed in a game on his little Nintendo 2DS.  He’d brought the handheld system with him when he’d moved in two months ago, and it was the only diversion Bruce saw Dick engage in on his own. Well, besides aimlessly wandering around the grounds.

Sure, Alfred had been able to engage Dick  in helping with light chores (“idle hands lead to idle minds,” Alfred insisted) and when Clark visited he could get Dick to go play catch out in the garden, but Bruce just...just didn’t know what to _do_ with Dick. Meals were strained, silent affairs, with Bruce pretending to be engrossed with his phone and Dick pushing his food around his plate until he asked to be excused. Bruce kept ordering Dick new toys to play with: a top-model RC car, a leather-bound version of the _Harry Potter_ series (autographed by the author, of course), a huge trampoline where Dick could practice his acrobatics, and both a Playstation and an XBox One. Everything had been untouched.

There was something about the image of Dick curled up with his little handheld system just feet away from the big, blank TV screen that made Bruce change his direction and enter the media room. Dick looked up at him curiously over the top of his game.

“Am I in your way?” Dick asked, probably for the millionth time since arriving.

“Not at all,” Bruce had replied as many times. He wondered how best to approach this. If he questioned Dick about the untouched toys, he would put Dick on the defensive by making him feel guilty. How to engage him without making it look like he was trying to?

“I actually need your help with something,” Bruce said.

That got Dick’s attention. He paused his game, and looked at Bruce with cautious curiosity. “With what?”

_Yeah, Bruce, with what?_ Bruce racked his mind as he headed towards the game consoles. “WayneTech is thinking of expanding into game development. It’s a big market, and I’m honestly not very savvy about what’s popular. I was hoping you could help me—play some games, tell me what you like about them and don’t.”

“Ooookay.” Dick shot Bruce a skeptical look. “I can tell you right now, any game where you get to blow holes in people is going to be popular. Especially if it’s multiplayer.”

Bruce’s gut twisted. He had instructed Alfred to steer clear of buying any too-violent video games, afraid that they might be triggering to Dick. Was that why Dick wasn’t playing the games they’d gotten him? He wanted to “blow holes in people”?

“Me, though, I’m not really into that shi...stuff.” Dick shrugged. “And I never had a steady internet connection on the road, so I never did any multiplayer.”

Wow. It was the first time Dick had offered any glimpse into his past life at all. Bruce found himself achingly curious for more, but he knew he had to keep playing carefully.

“So what games are you into?”

“ _Final Fantasy_ , _Fire Emblem_ , _Zelda_ , things like that.”

“What is it about them you like?”

“I dunno. I guess I like the whole heroes against huge villains thing. Trying to save the world against all odds.”

Huh. Dick was a bit of a romantic. Bruce flipped through the stack of unopened games on the table beside the consoles. Racing games, sports games, even a few Lego games. Nothing really of the fantasy ilk. He would have to ask Alfred to order some today.

“What about games like this?” Bruce held up a box with brightly colored, cubed shapes on it.

“ _Tetris_?” Dick’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “That’s like, the first game everyone plays.”

“Not me,” Bruce admitted. “I haven’t ever played this.”

“Seriously?” Dick sat up, incredulous. “You’ve never played _Tetris_?”

“My parents didn’t believe in video games. Thought they’d rot my brain.” That was the first time Bruce had told Dick anything about his own childhood. He braced himself for more questions, obvious ones like, _‘well why didn’t you get yourself all the games you wanted after they died?’_ or _‘didn’t you have friends who had games you could play?’_

“Wow. That sucks,” was all Dick said. “I’d go crazy without video games.”

Bruce’s face warmed, which surprised him. “Want to help me make up for lost time? Show me how it’s done?”

Dick cocked his head, considering for a long moment. “Yeah, sure, I guess. Though you’re not going to make much money trying to make a game like _Tetris_. It’s older than dirt.”

It took a few minutes for Bruce to set up the game.  Dick had already positioned himself upright on the couch, and Bruce joined him, handing him a game controller.

“Man, this is gonna be like playing on a movie screen,” Dick said, eying the floor-to-ceiling monitor.

“That’s what Clark said the first time we watched a football game on this,” Bruce murmured.

“Yeah?” Despite Bruce and Clark’s choice to keep their relationship private from all except their families and closest friends, they had decided that honesty was best with Dick. Clark had been introduced to Dick as Bruce’s partner, and Dick had seemed pleased to have been let in on this secret part of Bruce Wayne’s life. Clark had theorized that it was because it humanized Bruce to him, but Bruce knew it was because it gave Dick leverage.  

“Said it made him feel like an ant,” Bruce said.

“Totally.”

Dick started the game, and Bruce watched as he flipped and slotted the colorful shapes into the puzzle board. The longer he played, the more impressed Bruce was. Dick not only had good hand-eye coordination—unsurprising for an acrobat—but he had a quick mind and even quicker reflexes. He maneuvered the shapes nimbly, able to anticipate the changing landscape of the board almost as quickly as Bruce could. He played continuously for almost ten minutes before the increasing speed of the falling pieces caused him to make a mistake. Within a few seconds the game was over.

“Man, I’m rusty,” Dick sighed.

“You didn’t seem rusty to me,” Bruce said. “I don’t think I could do that.” A white lie. Bruce had already figured out the best strategy for beating the game just by watching Dick.

“Maybe with practice. Want to try?” Dick handed the controller out to Bruce.

Bruce looked at his watch. He really should be going; his meetings began in a little over thirty minutes. But if he took the Ferrari instead of the town car, he could shave a few minutes off his drive into Gotham. Besides, he could be a few minutes late.

“Sure.” Bruce took the controller and restarted the game. The question was, should he pretend to be bad at this to make Dick feel better, or should he—oh! Bruce had rotated the piece the wrong way, and it had gotten stuck on the edge of the hole instead of going in. That was going to complicate things. He could fix it, though—

“Flip that piece clockwise. No, the other way!” Dick instructed. “Then use that L-shaped piece there.”

“Here?”

“No! There!”

“OK...”

“Trust me! You have a straight piece coming up, if you can get everything ready you can knock out three rows at once.”

Bruce had seen that, but he was impressed that Dick had as well. He was starting to get into the rhythm of the controls. If he could operate a remote-controlled batarang, he could play a silly video game.

“Good!” Dick encouraged. “Now, with the next piece, flip it counterclockwise…”

He let Dick instruct him, marvelling at just how patient the boy was in trying to teach Bruce this game. He’d never heard Dick talk this much, and every once in a while he gave a fleeting smile. For those few seconds, he looked like just a normal boy, untouched by grief and pain. It was all Bruce had wanted for Dick—to see him happy again, even for just a few moments.

Bruce’s phone vibrated in his pocket, his text notification chiming a moment later. Damn.

“Here, take over,” Bruce handed the controller to Dick and fished the phone out of his pocket. It was his secretary at the office: _3:00 meeting pushed back to 3:20 due to midtown traffic._

Bruce sighed. He knew which of the two board members had pushed the meeting back, and that it had nothing to do with the traffic. It was a power-play, a way to show Bruce Wayne that he may be the CEO, but not in total control. Sometimes, truly, he preferred his life as Batman. It was more straightforward, and he made the rules on that playing field...  

“You have to go, right?” Dick asked. Bruce glanced down at him. Gone was the animated boy, replaced by the sullen, closed-off kid once again. Bruce’s heart twisted. His decision was easy.

“Nope. I’m cancelling my meetings for the afternoon.” He would still go in to meet with Lucius, but that was hours away. Plenty of time to spend with Dick.

“Yeah?” Dick’s voice was both tentative and hopeful. “You can just do that?”

“My name’s on the building.” Bruce shrugged. “What’s the point in being the boss if you can’t play hooky once in a while?”

Dick gave him an odd little half-smile, which Bruce took as encouraging.

“Let me just send a couple of texts,” Bruce continued, “and then maybe you can show me some more of these games. We can order in a pizza for lunch if you want.”

Dick perked up. “Can we get canadian bacon and pineapple?”

It took all of Bruce’s powers not to visibly cringe. _That_ was not a pizza, it was a culinary abomination. But, if it made Dick happy…

“Sure. Any toppings you want.” He would just make sure Alfred ordered a _real_ pizza, too.

 

******************

 

“You talk to him.”

“Me?” Clark shook his head and crossed his arms across his broad, flannel-covered chest. He glowered at Bruce through his glasses. “No. He’s under your charge. You have to do this.”

“You’re better at this sort of thing.” Bruce tried not to look pleading.

“True, but this needs to come from you. I don’t even live here.”

“That could change,” Bruce said softly.

Clark held up a warning finger. “Don’t. We’re not discussing us. We’re discussing you and Dick and the fact that he’s run away twice now.”

Bruce turned his back on Clark, and stared out the office window to the garden below. Dick was out there, shuffling along a path with his hands jammed in the pocket of his red sweatshirt, his face hidden by his hood. That sweatshirt. It was torn and stained and three sizes too big for him, bearing the faded logo for a long-defunct circus on the back. He hadn’t parted with it long enough to let Alfred wash it.

“He keeps trying to join his old circus friends again,” Bruce murmured. “They all scattered after the...the incident and Haly’s circus went bankrupt. I found messages from some of them on his phone, telling him they could get him a new gig as a solo act if he came out to meet them. ”

“Shady.”

“That’s what I thought, too.”

“Not just that—you checking his phone.”

“I don’t check his phone. I have it wired through the Batcomputer so that it alerts me each time he contacts these people. It was part of my investigation.”

“That’s almost worse.”

Bruce shrugged. “Not all of us have super-hearing so we can just pick up his breathing pattern out of a crowd. I do what I have to to keep him safe.”

Bruce could feel Clark step closer to him, his warm, solid presence behind him. “Talking to him face to face would go a lot further than tapping his phone, Bruce.”

Bruce was sorely tempted to lean back, absorb the strength and assurance Clark radiated, but he resisted. It would be a surrender, and right now Bruce wasn’t ready to agree with him.

He still had no idea what to do. He always had a plan for every situation…until that situation became an orphaned twelve-year-old boy living under his roof. Bruce had had every intention of keeping it temporary—a safe place for the boy until his case could be sorted out by social services and law enforcement. But Batman had brought down the majority of the Falcones—the crime family responsible for the Flying Grayson’s murder—almost a month ago. Now that the police had closed the case, there really was no reason for Dick to stay with Bruce. Which was why Dick kept trying to leave. Even with his parents’ murderers brought to justice, he grew even more restless by the day. Bruce knew he had to make a decision, and soon.

“Why do you keep bringing him back here, Bruce?” Clark asked quietly. “It’s been five months since you took him in. You’re well within your rights to leave him in foster care. I’m sure the Martha Wayne Foundation could find him a good home in no time. Somewhere he could start over.”

“They could,” Bruce said slowly. He knew Clark was right. With Bruce Wayne’s personal attention to Dick’s case, Bruce could make sure that Dick didn’t fall through the cracks in the system like so many other children did. He could guarantee that he went to a good family and an excellent school, even sponsor him for college when the time came. Bruce could help him find a normal life…

Except, deep down, Bruce knew the bitter truth.

Dick would never have a normal life.

Maybe, if he was lucky, Dick would learn to pretend. He could learn to smile, to play along, to make people believe he was healed from his pain. If he was unlucky, he would let his rage consume him, become a “problem child,” a “problem student,” and then someday Batman would encounter him out on the streets, another foot soldier in the gang wars tearing the city apart.

No. Dick needed guidance from someone who understood what he was going through, who knew his loss, his anger. The helplessness…and the way to channel that into something good.

“You’re right,” Bruce whispered. He could practically feel Clark’s surprise, even with his back still turned.

“You’re going to let him go?” Clark asked carefully.

“No. I’m going to go talk to him.” Bruce finally turned to Clark, and placed a small, quick kiss on the corner of his mouth before leaving him in the study.

Bruce made his way down to the garden. Dick was still out there, skipping stones across the koi pond. Bruce resisted the urge to chastise him for threatening the fish. It wouldn’t be a good way to start this conversation. Instead, he picked up his own flat stone, and skipped it across the pond. It made two leaps before sinking into the water.

Dick went silent and still. He stared out at the water instead of looking at Bruce.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Bruce said. He was nervous, so his voice came out sterner that he’d expected.

Dick barely flinched. “You’re finally getting rid of me, right?”

Bruce looked up at the office window, and as he suspected, Clark was watching. What he hadn’t suspected was the encouraging little smile on his face, and he gave Bruce a nod. It was just the boost he needed.

Bruce took a deep breath. “Dick, how’d you like to stay here?”

Dick started. He looked up at Bruce, his dark eyes guarded and curious. “Stay here? For good?” Bruce didn’t miss the hint of hope breaking through the incredulousness.

“Yes.”

“You’re not mad at me?” Dick asked cautiously.

“For running away?”

“Yeah. And, you know, the other stuff.”

“What other stuff?”

“You mean, you haven’t noticed the brok…nevermind.” Dick flushed, and ducked his head down to hide his face in his hood again.

“I’m not angry, Dick,” Bruce said, carefully. “I’m just…worried. I know what you’re going through—”

Dick looked up sharply at Bruce, his eyes glinting steel. Bruce held his hands up, showing he wasn’t going to argue, wasn’t going to push. He _did_ know what Dick was feeling—which meant Dick felt that no one, ever could understand the emotions roiling within him.

“I want you to know,” Bruce continued, “that there’s a place for you here, if you want it.” Bruce swallowed hard. “I know it’s not the same. As before. Things will never be the same as before, no matter how much you want them to be. So, if you want to leave, I won’t stop you. I’ll help you find a new place, a new direction. But…if…if you wanted to stay…”

Dick was quiet for a long time. “Do you want me to stay?”

It was Bruce’s turn to fall silent. Since Dick had arrived, things had been decidedly more complicated in his life. There’d been less time to keep his cover as playboy Bruce Wayne, and he’d had to be very, very careful about keeping Batman hidden from Dick, right under his own nose. There had also been less time to spend with Clark, and they hadn’t even set foot in their basement “playroom,” for fear that Dick would somehow overhear something. There’d been more work for Alfred, too—more laundry, more cooking, more messes to clean up. Things would be so much simpler, more focused without Dick…

They’d also be a hell of a lot…emptier.

What had he just told Dick? _Things will never be the same as before, no matter how much you want them to be._

“I do,” Bruce said. “I like you, Dick. You’re a good kid.”

Dick nodded, satisfied. “What about Clark?”

“Clark likes you, too.” Bruce knew Dick knew that.

“No, I mean, is he going to stay here, too?”

Bruce cocked a surprised eyebrow at him. So. Dick had a “favorite” even if he wouldn’t admit it outright. It only made sense, Bruce supposed. Clark was just better with Dick than he was—friendlier, gentler, able to coax rare smiles out of the boy with corny jokes and stories of his life on the farm. He’d warmed to him quickly—more quickly than to Bruce—and Clark simply chalked it up to his Midwestern charm. Bruce chalked it up to Clark being the most amazing man on the planet. Who wouldn’t want to bask in his presence as much as they could? Still, though, Bruce couldn’t help feel the slightest pang of jealousy, which he hid with an easy shrug and a little half-smile.

“We’ll see, Dick.”

 

******************

“It’s going to take time, Bruce.”

Clark’s arms were crossed across his bare chest, still dappled with stray droplets of shower water. He had his toothbrush in hand, and a damp towel hung around his waist, but Bruce was too absorbed in his thoughts to properly admire the view.

“It’s been three months since he decided to stay,” Bruce said, head falling back on Clark’s pillows. “I thought Dick would’ve…”

“Settled in by now?” Clark finished for him. He drifted back through the door to his small bathroom, and Bruce heard the tap running a few seconds later. “It’s a lot of changes to adjust to, Bruce. New home, new school, new city—”

_New guardian._ Bruce sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt oddly guilty being here, alone with Clark in his little Metropolis apartment on a Sunday evening, instead of home with Dick. Alfred was taking him out to the movies, though, so it wasn't as if he was moping around the manor alone. It had been weeks since he and Clark had had any “quality time” together, and instead of pouncing on him, what was Bruce doing? Venting about Dick.

“He got into a fight at school yesterday. The only reason they didn’t kick him out is because security footage proved that the other kids started it first, and Dick was only acting in self-defense.”

“Is he OK?” Clark asked, ducking his head out of the bathroom door. His words sounded slurred through the toothbrush sticking out of his mouth.

“Not a scratch on him.” Bruce couldn’t get the footage out of his mind—Dick had managed to straight-out dodge every punch thrown at him by the much bigger, stronger boy. He’d even landed a few strategic punches of his own before the fight had been broken up by the teachers. He moved like a cat.

“That’s great, but how’s he feeling about it?” Clark asked, swiping his face on a smaller towel.

Bruce furrowed his brow. That he honestly didn’t know. “I…I haven’t really talked to him about it.”

Clark’s eyes rolled up in exasperation. “Seriously? He gets into a fight at school, and you pretend nothing’s out of the ordinary? No wonder he’s giving you trouble.”

“Well, if you came over more often, then you could talk to him about this sort of stuff—”

“Nope. He’s under your roof, it has to come from you.”

“He likes you better.”

Clark only snorted. “Because I’m a novelty. You’re the authority figure.”

“You’re not a ‘novelty,’ Kal.” Bruce screwed up his face in confusion. Now that was an odd term to use. “He considers you a friend.”

Clark ducked back into the bathroom, and Bruce had the feeling it was to avoid looking at Bruce. Just like he’d been avoiding coming by the manor for months. He’d stop by frequently for short visits, meals and the like, but he wouldn’t stay the night anymore. When he questioned Clark about it, he simply said, he was “giving Bruce and Dick their space to bond.” Bruce knew better, though.

“You know that he’s asked when you’re coming to live with us?” Bruce said, making his voice casual.

Bruce could practically hear the intake of breath from the bathroom. “That’s very sweet,” Clark said, his voice cautious, “but he knows I work and live in Metropolis. A commute from Gotham would be impossible to sustain.”

“You could get a job at the _Gotham Gazette_. Vicki Vale would hire you in a heartbeat.”

“And Perry White would skin me alive. Never mind what Lois would do.”

A knot formed in Bruce’s chest. They’d been having this debate for years now, and each time it was the same set of answers: Clark couldn’t leave Metropolis, his job at the _Daily Planet_ , his little apartment. It was all part of the cover he’d carefully crafted for himself. Bruce understood—considering so much of his own cover depended on his reputation as an insatiable ladies’ man—but as time went on, Bruce became more and more reluctant to let Clark go for these long stretches of time. He was sure that they could make co-habitation work even with their secret identities and super-personas…if Clark would give it a chance.

“Lois would get over it,” Bruce grumbled. “Dick may not.”

“Don’t.” Clark stuck his head out of the bathroom again.

“Don’t what?” Bruce asked innocently.

“Don’t go using Dick to try to manipulate me into living with you.”

Heat flushed across Bruce’s face, and he scowled to hide his annoyance. “You’re leaving me very few options, Kal.”

“How about just respecting my wishes?” Clark said quietly.

“You mean indulging your fears,” Bruce countered. He sat up on Clark’s bed, crossing his arms.

“Bruce…” Clark looked down and sighed. “Look. I’ll be honest. I’ve thought this through, so many times, and the one factor that I cannot find a solution for is…is Dick. Maybe nine months ago, yeah, I could’ve dealt with the secret commute to Metropolis every morning, but with Dick in the house…” he trailed off.

“There’s no way you can keep your identity secret,” Bruce finished, his heart sinking into his stomach.

Clark spread his hands helplessly. “I know how hard it’s been for you, keeping Batman from him. Trying to keep Superman from him, too, though, it’s too risky. He’s just a kid. He needs stable parents in his life, not superheroes.”

“Parents?” Bruce’s eyebrows shot up, dark anger welling in his heart. “I am not his _parent_. You are not his _parent_. Alfred is not his _parent_. His parents are _dead_. Nothing we do will ever change that.”

“I…poor choice of words,” Clark said softly. He sat down on the bed beside Bruce, and placed a hand on his knee. “I love you, Bruce. I will always be yours, through all of space and time. But you know as well as I do—better than I do—that we’ve chosen a road of personal sacrifice in the name of service. And right now, Dick needs you more than I do.” He squeezed Bruce’s knee, and Bruce could feel the control in the gesture.

_What about what I need?_ A small, childish part of Bruce wanted to shout, but was immediately silenced. He’d learned how to quiet that voice long, long ago.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bruce. Ever,” Clark continued. “I’ll be at the manor as soon as you need me, and you’re always, always welcome in my home.” He leaned forward, and nuzzled his nose along Bruce’s jaw. “But right now what you need is to stop brooding and start digging into that bag of toys you brought over, because we are not wasting our date night having this old argument.”

Part of Bruce wanted to keep the debate going, play the “I’m not in the mood anymore” card. But one look at Clark’s nearly naked form and Bruce knew he’d be lying to both of them. As if reading his mind, Clark began planting soft, nipping kisses along his jaw, up his cheek, on his earlobe…Bruce shuddered, groaning his surrender.

“You are the most manipulative man ever, Kal.”

“I know, dear. Now can you please just tie me up?”

 

******************

“Concentrate on your breathing. In…out.” Bruce took a deep, slow breath to model for Dick. He watched Dick in the mirror spanning the workout room, checking his posture. So far, so good—Dick was kneeling calmly, hands folded on his lap. He was ready. “Forearm Stand. Arms down on the mat, keep your hands clasped…” Bruce narrated the steps as he went through the motions to balance his entire body vertically over his forearms. He snuck a look in the mirror, and saw that Dick had mimicked the stance perfectly. A flush of pride went through Bruce. Not that he doubted a born acrobat like Dick would have trouble with these advanced yoga poses. “Scorpion Tail. Bring your legs forward…”

Dick managed to hold the new pose for a few seconds before collapsing to the ground with a grunt. Bruce eased himself down a few moments later.

“Almost had it,” Dick grumbled.

“You did have it. Next time you’ll have it for a few seconds longer.” Bruce gave him an encouraging nod.

“Can we take a break? I need a drink.”

“Sure.” Bruce motioned to the water bottles on the bench lining the room. So far, their biweekly workout sessions had been going quite well. It had happened by accident, when Bruce noticed Dick watching him—from the rafters—as he’d been practicing some forms. He’d invited Dick to join him, half expecting him to say no. Instead, Dick had proven himself to be a more than willing student, eager to learn what bits of martial arts and yoga that Bruce offered. Bruce was even considering increasing their sessions, possibly incorporating some actual combat scenarios, just in case Dick ran into more bullies at school.

Bruce continued stretching out, and followed his body’s urge to flow into the Peacock Pose—balancing his entire body horizontally on his backward-pointing hands. When he came out of the pose, he heard Dick give a low whistle.

“Man, the only one I’ve ever seen be able to pull off something like that was my friend Cassy.”

“Cassy?”

“Cassandra the Human Cobra. Haly’s contortionist. Or, at least, she used to be. I think she’s working on Coney Island now. At least that’s what her Facebook says.” Dick had meant to sound nonchalant, but Bruce could hear the undercurrent of longing running through his words.

“You know,” Bruce said carefully, “New York’s not that far from Gotham. If you ever wanted to go visit her, we could make a trip.”

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Dick—excitement, outright rejection, a noncommittal shrug. Instead, Dick looked right at him, his bright blue eyes boring into Bruce. “You serious?”

“Absolutely. I don’t expect you to cut all ties with your old friends just because you live here now, Dick.” Well, except for the ones who had been on the Falcone’s payroll, but they were all safely behind bars now. Luckily, Cassandra wasn’t one of them.

Dick nodded, chewing his bottom lip. “Can I think about it?”

“Sure. Just let me know when you’re ready.” Bruce gave him what he hoped was an encouraging grin. It would be hard for Dick, seeing his old friends again, reminding him of everything he had lost, how time had moved on. But then again, perhaps it would help him embrace his new life even more.

Bruce’s comm chirped on his wrist, and he tapped the screen to check what the Batcomputer had picked up. A bank robbery was in process in downtown Gotham, and security cameras had identified Penguin gang members on the scene. Time to suit up.

“Dick, I’m sorry, I’m going to have to end practice early for today.” Bruce stood quickly. “Toss me that bottle of water?”

Dick complied, and Bruce easily caught the bottle.

“They need you at work this late?” Dick asked.

Bruce sighed inwardly. He’d already explained to Dick about his “odd working hours,” and he understood that this was more Dick’s annoyance at having his time with Bruce cut short, but Bruce did wish that Dick would stop questioning him each time Batman was needed. It just made it that much more difficult to leave. He was used to having to lie and sneak away when he was in public, but months of doing it in his own home was really starting to wear on him.

“Downside of being the boss,” Bruce sighed, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice. “You keep practicing that Scorpion Tail for a bit longer. I probably won’t be back before bedtime, so have Alfred check your homework after din—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” Dick grumbled. He turned his back to Bruce, pretending to focus on his reflection in the mirror before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. In, out.

Bruce’s chest tightened as he hurried out of the practice room. He hated leaving Dick like this, he truly did, but what choice did he have? It wasn’t as if he could take Dick with him on patrol…

_No. Don’t even think about it, Bruce._

He tried not to think about it, but the niggling idea kept dancing around the edge of his awareness in his idle moments. Dick was fast, and smart, and took instruction well…no. He had reflexes that no other boy his age possessed…no. He wanted to help people…no.

By the time Bruce had taken care of the bank robbery and stopped two other crimes-in-progress, he had weighed every pro and con in his head. He had figured out every worst-case scenario and every best possible outcome. As he drove the Batmobile back into the Batcave, he came to a decision: to revisit this idea when Dick was older. He was still young, and in the midst of his grieving process and re-adjustment to his new life with Bruce. The last thing he needed in his life was Batman.

“Batman,” Alfred’s voice rung across the Batcave as Bruce strode towards his seat at the batcomputer. “Could you come here, please?”

Bruce’s brow furrowed in confusion. _Batman?_ Alfred never called him “Batman” when they were in the cave. Which meant there was something wrong. Someone else here. Bruce’s heart rate accelerated, his step quickening as he followed Alfred’s voice. “Alfred?”

“No need to be alarmed, I’m quite alright. We have a visitor, though, who found his way in.”

Suddenly, Bruce _knew_ , like a punch to the gut. He rounded the corner, and there was Alfred, sitting in a chair as calm as could be beside a sulking, pajama-clad Dick. Dick’s entire posture and changed as he saw Batman: he sat up straight, his jaw falling in shock, his eyes going wide.

“Wow,” Dick squeaked out.

“How did you get down here?” Bruce asked, pitching his voice in Batman’s tone.

“I’ve been watching you for weeks, Bruce,” Dick grumbled. “Figured out the entrance in the study. I had to see what was down here.”

So much for keeping his identity secret.  He and Alfred exchanged looks, and Alfred tilted his head slightly towards Dick. “He managed to avoid the worst of the security measures before he was caught in the net by the workbench.” Knowing Alfred, he’d let Dick hang for a bit before letting him loose.

“I just wanted to look. I didn’t touch anything, I swear!” Dick protested. “For all I knew this was where you kept the bodies of all the other orphan boys you’ve taken in.”

Bruce was both impressed and worried. Dick had figured out his way in on his own, and was able to evade the cave’s security system for a good while. Either Bruce needed to brush up on his defenses…or Dick was really that good.

Bruce hesitated a moment before pulling off his cowl. There was no point in hiding his face from Dick anymore was there? “I don’t keep any bodies down here. Batman doesn’t kill.”

Dick’s eyes went even wider as he took in Bruce’s face. “Holy shit. You’re really Batman.”

“Yes, I am. This is the most important secret I keep, Dick. You have to swear to me that you will tell no one about this. Not your friends, not your social worker, not your teachers. No one.”

Dick nodded vigorously, making his hair flop crazily over his forehead. “You can trust me, Bruce.”

“I sincerely hope I can, Dick. You’ve already proven once tonight that I can’t trust you to follow instructions—”

“I did everything you asked! I tried the Scorpion Pose a few more times, I did my homework, I even had Alfred check it!”

“That he did, Master Bruce,” Alfred admitted.

“You didn’t say anything about not unlocking the secret door to your hidden lair!”

Technically, Dick had him there. It was infuriating, and Bruce let some of that irritation leak into his tone. “This isn’t a game, Dick! People’s lives hang in the balance! Not just mine or Alfred’s, but yours now. If Batman’s enemies knew he had a child in his care, they would stop at nothing to hurt you. Kill you even.”

“They could try.” Dick jutted out his chin. “They’d have to catch me first.”

Bruce growled low in his throat. “I know you think you’re invincible because you’re a teenager, but—”

“No, I don’t,” Dick snapped. “I know I can get hurt, I know I can die. I also know that I’m a Flying Grayson. I know how to get away. I can take care of myself, Bruce. You don’t have to worry about me.”

As much as Bruce wanted to believe what Dick said, he knew that he would always worry about Dick now. He remembered what had happened when he’d left Clark alone at the manor to “keep him safe” on their first date—it would’ve been better for him to come with him…

_No. No. No._

“It’s beyond late, and it’s a weeknight. I need you to go back to bed,” Bruce said. He suddenly felt exhausted. “We can talk about this more after school tomorrow.”

“Really? I still have to go to school tomorrow?” Dick asked, incredulous.

“Yes, like Alfred and I have work tomorrow, too. It’s part of this life, Dick. You keep living your normal life, like nothing else is happening. If you can keep that up, prove to me that you can keep this secret, perhaps I’ll show you more.”

That got Dick’s attention. He bolted up and practically raced for the stairs. He stopped, though, and threw a curious look at Bruce. “Wait, do I have to keep this from Clark, too? He’s your boyfriend, he’s gotta know you’re Batman, right?”

Clark. Shit. If Clark knew what Bruce was even considering…Bruce needed time to figure out the best way to handle this.

“Don’t tell Clark,” Bruce said slowly. “For now.”

“Seriously? You haven’t even told _him_?”

“I didn’t say that. But don’t tell him that you know, yet.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to tell him myself.”

“Ooookay. Is he weird about it?”

“Sometimes.”   

“How can he be weird about you being _Batman_? You’re like, the biggest hero in the world.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“You are to me,” Dick mumbled it so fast that Bruce almost wasn’t sure he heard it or if he was imagining it. Dick didn’t repeat it, though, and he hurried away, hiding his face from Bruce.

 

******************

“You’re insane, Bruce!”

Clark’s arms were crossed across the slashed fabric of his Superman uniform, his eyes crackling with fury. He held up the small green face mask, thrusting it at Bruce with such force he had to keep himself from stepping back against the gust of wind the motion created.

“He’s only a boy!” Clark continued. “What…what the hell were you thinking, taking him with you into the field?”

Bruce stared Clark down through the slits in his Batman mask. He let the question echo through the Batcave until it had all but disappeared. Clark’s anger didn’t intimidate him. It galvanized him. “He’s ready.”

“He’s barely thirteen! He’s too young to be ready.”

“If I didn’t go with him, he would go out on his own,” Bruce said.

“Not if you would actually discipline him instead of giving in—”

“What do you think his training has been? Dick is more disciplined and focused than I’ve seen him in the year he’s been here—”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Clark snapped. “When he figured out you were Batman, we agreed that training him was the right thing to do. But I never agreed to you taking him on as some adolescent sidekick!”

“It wasn’t your decision to make. It was mine.” Bruce’s jaw tightened. “He’s my charge, living under my roof. I made the call.”

Clark sucked in his breath, his face twisting. “This is the exact opposite of what he needs. He needs stability, security—”

“Both of which he has with me.”

“—and not to have his guardian endanger his life as part of his mad crusade for justice!”

Bruce’s cheeks stung as surely as if Clark had slapped him. A small, quiet part of himself agreed with Clark. He had never meant for things to go this far with Dick’s training. It had begun as meditation, basic martial arts, but the boy had picked it up so fast, and had been ravenous for the knowledge. Finally, finally, with Bruce’s secret out, he could truly connect with Dick, show him who he was—and it was obvious that it was someone that Dick wanted to be, too. How could Bruce deny him his own quest for justice, his own battle to control his inner demons? Without Batman to guide him, Dick would be lost, just another angry hood looking for a street fight. Now? He had the potential to be so much more. Deep in his heart, in his gut, Bruce knew that taking Dick on as an apprentice was the right thing to do—with or without Clark’s blessing.

“You saw for yourself, Clark. Dick was extraordinary. He even helped you by distracting Parasite before he could touch you.”

“That’s not the point!” The anger on Clark’s face faltered. “He’s a boy wonder, sure, but he’s still just a boy! Wait until he’s seventeen, eighteen—”

“There’s no way I’m waiting that long to join you guys!” a small voice chirped from the corner. Bruce smiled inwardly, though he didn’t show it on his face. He’d had a feeling that Dick hadn’t “gone to his room” like Clark had ordered him to, and Clark had been too distracted to notice. Indeed, there Dick stood in his bright Robin costume, hands planted on his hips. His sharp chin jutted out defiantly, and his eyes shone with determined pride. Bruce would have to help him work on that. Pride was a weakness that could be exploited.

Clark whirled on Dick, and Bruce marveled at how quickly he could hide his anger, morph it into exasperation, understanding. “Look, Dick, I know that what we do seems exciting, but it’s very dangerous work. It’s not a game.”

“Don’t you think I know that, Clark?” Dick said. “I’ve spent my whole life doing dangerous work. I was doing doubles somersaults without a net by the time I was eight.”

Clark took a deep breath through his nose. Bruce wondered what angle he’d take on that.

“But your parents didn’t let you try a triple without a net, did they?” Clark said carefully. “Because it was too dangerous. That’s what this job is, Dick. There is no room for error, and there is no net on the job.”

“He does have a net. He has me,” Bruce said.

Clark’s shoulders tightened, though he didn’t turn to Bruce. Instead, he addressed Dick, again. “Dick, you’re the bravest kid I’ve ever known. You’re talented, you’re fast, and you’re a quick learner. With training and time, you could be as good as Bruce, maybe even better. But you’ll never know if you rush and get hurt trying to prove yourself.”

“I’m not trying to prove myself, I’m trying to make a difference!” Dick snapped. His eyes were shining in the light thrown from the Batcomputer—he was fighting back angry tears. “What’s the point of all this training, all these skills, if I can’t use them to help people?” He took a deep, shaky breath, and stormed up to Clark. He swiped the mask out of Clark’s hand. “You don’t understand anything, Clark. You keep telling me you do, but…but you’re Superman! You can do anything you want, save anyone you want—”

“God, I wish that were true,” Clark said quietly. He reached out a hand, as if to touch Dick’s shoulder, but Dick flinched away.

“My parents believed in me. Batman believes in me. I don’t need you to believe in me to know that I’m ready for this. Just…just go away, Clark. You’re ruining everything!”

Bruce’s heart broke, watching the raw hurt shadow Clark’s face. It made him unreasonably angry at Dick, and he opened his mouth to chastise him.

“No,” Clark said, his tone surprisingly light, which meant he was working really, really hard to stay calm. “I’m not going anywhere, no matter what you do or what you say. The sooner you understand that, the better.”

“Because you’re afraid I’m going to get hurt doing something stupid,” Dick spat.

“Because I care about you, Richard. Doesn’t matter how many stupid things you do. I’m always going to have your back.”

“You’re Superman. You have everyone’s back,” Dick grumbled, but Bruce could see that Clark’s words were penetrating Dick’s angry armor.

“I have your back because I _do_ believe in you. I believe in you so much that I want you to wait until you’ve honed yourself into the master you’re going to be. But, since you’ve decided that you’re unwilling to wait, and Bruce decided to allow this, I have to be a bit more hands-on in my support.”

“What, you’re going to shadow me, now?” Dick asked.

“You know the rules, Clark. Gotham is—”

“Your city. Believe me, I am very well aware of that.” Clark threw him a dirty look. “And I can’t spend more of my time here, especially with Batman and you—”

“Robin,” Dick chimed in. “Batman and Robin.”

To Clark’s credit, he didn’t roll his eyes. “Both on patrol. But I will be adding my own training to your regimen, and I am going to have a very, very long talk with Bruce about safety, guidelines, and scheduling.”

“Scheduling?” Dick asked.

“You still have school and homework. Your grades start slipping, and Robin is put on immediate probation. Do I make myself clear?”

Dick looked at Bruce expectantly, but Bruce only nodded, backing Clark’s play. He’d already decided the same thing, but he knew it would be important to Clark—and to patching the damage done between them—to let him have this moment.

“Yeah, sure,” Dick shrugged, grumbling.

“Now, please go to bed. For real this time. I have to talk to Bruce in private before I go.”

“Change down here in the armory, first,” Bruce said. “No uniforms in the manor.”

To his credit, Dick didn’t argue. He simply turned and headed towards the armory, and Bruce didn’t miss the slight spring in his step. He knew he’d won. Which meant Clark had lost. Which meant Bruce was going to lose even worse.

Bruce filled the waiting silence by busying himself at the Batcomputer, typing up his nightly mission report. Clark didn’t say anything, simply standing, pensive, probably using his super-hearing to make sure that Dick was indeed heading up the stairs and back into the manor. The way the night had gone, he’d probably wait until he could hear Dick brushing his teeth before he would speak—

“When I told you I wanted you and Dick to bond, I didn’t mean like this,” Clark said. His voice was quiet, tired. Hurt.

“I know what you meant. You wanted me to take him to ball games and play catch in the yard, make model planes and do all those wonderful, homey things that your father did with you.” Bruce sighed. “I’m not like that, Clark, and I never will be. _This_ is who I am.”

“Bullshit,” Clark growled. “This is you hiding behind your mask all the fuck over again!”

Wow. He knew Clark was mad when he started cursing like that.

“You could’ve tried, Bruce. You could’ve tried talking to him, finding his interests. Like you did with me. Instead, you went for shock and awe, because you knew you’d win him over as soon as you let him be part of Batman’s world. No one can resist Batman, can they?”

Bruce’s fingers faltered on the keyboard, his heart lurching in his chest.

“If Dick gets hurt because of you, I will never forgive you, Bruce.”

“That makes two of us.”

Clark was gone before Bruce had finished speaking, leaving only a gust of wind in his wake, and a hollow feeling in the pit of Bruce’s stomach.

 

******************

“Dick, it’s all right.”

“No, it’s not! It’s my fault he got hurt!”

The sound of Clark and Dick’s voices finally pulled Bruce from the red-grey haze of pain he’d been drifting in and out of for what felt like forever. He tried to open his eyes, intending to look for Dick, but found himself unable to move his eyelids. God, how much of Poison Ivy’s paralysis toxin had Bruce breathed in before falling unconscious?

“He’s going to be fine, Dick, I promise,” Clark soothed. His words were even, but Bruce knew him well enough to identify the slight hitch at the end of his sentence. Clark was worried, too.

“Indeed he will, Master Dick.” Alfred’s voice chimed in from somewhere behind Bruce. “I believe this time I’ve administered the correct dosage of anti-toxin to help his system fight the poison. His vitals have stabilized. The paralysis will wear off, and he should regain consciousness shortly.”

Only then he registered the oxygen respirator covering his nose and mouth.  He tried to open his mouth to tell them that he was indeed awake, but the effort got him nowhere. He focused instead on breathing deeply, and the air had a slightly minty smell to it this time. The anti-toxin. He’d synthesized an antidote to Ivy’s newest weapon just in time.

“I was careless,” Dick said. “I thought I could take her down on my own. I didn’t see the vines creeping up on me until it was too late.”

“We all make mistakes out in the field,” Clark said quietly.

“If Bruce hadn’t jumped in front of me when she sprayed the venom…” Dick’s voice trailed off.

“He was protecting you.”

“He shouldn’t have to protect me! I’m supposed to help him!” Dick spat.

“Sometimes that’s what must happen, though. We have to protect each other, which is why I came as soon as I heard you calling for me.”

“He’s never had to protect you, I bet.”

“Oh, really? I guess he hasn’t told you about how he and I ended up as a couple, has he?” Clark said.

Bruce wished he could laugh. He did feel the corners of his mouth tugging up into a smile, though, which was a good sign. The paralysis was slowly wearing off.

“No?” Dick sounded both curious and skeptical.

“He saved my life. Twice. Once when I was shot with a Kryptonite bullet, and once when I got Kryptonite poisoning and was captured.”

“ _You_ were captured?”

“I was in disguise. They thought I was Bruce. He fought off a dozen armed men in a burning warehouse to rescue me. Even half-carried me down three flights of stairs.”

“Wow!”

“Yeah. He’s tough, Dick. Don’t sell him short. In fact, he’s awake now, though he’s still paralyzed.”

“Wait, what? How do you know?” A moment later, Bruce felt Dick’s small hand on his chest, shaking him carefully. “He still looks out cold.”

“I noticed a shift in his breathing pattern a minute ago,” Clark said, his voice closer. Bruce felt Clark’s big fingers smooth across his forehead, and he tried to crinkle his brow to acknowledge the gesture. He succeeded with some effort.

Dick gave a whoop of delight. “Bruce! Bruce can you hear me? Wrinkle your forehead once for yes, twice for no.”

Bruce concentrated, and crinkled his forehead once.

“I’m sorry!” Dick blurted. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve listened to you when you told me to fall back—”

Bruce crinkled his forehead once. _Yes._

Dick went quiet. “I’m fired, aren’t I?”

Bruce signaled “no,” and tried to open his eyes. He succeeded in opening his left eye partially, allowing him to see the silhouette of Dick’s head hovering above him.

“No? But I got you hurt.”

Bruce signaled “no” again. _“It wasn’t you, Dick, it was Poison Ivy,”_ he wished he could say. _“Without you, Clark wouldn’t have known to come for us after I was hit with the toxin.”_

“I’m going to have a lot more training before I go out in the field again, right?”

Bruce signaled yes.

“That’s good,” Dick sighed. “I need it. I don’t…I don’t want this to happen again. I don’t ever want you to get hurt because of me.”

Bruce didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so he focused instead on trying to move his hand, to reassure Dick. He lifted it partially up off the table, not enough to touch Dick, unfortunately, but Clark saw the gesture and helped lift his hand up further. Dick took it, clasping it tightly.

“See, Dick?” Clark said quietly. “We’re not going to lose him. He’ll be back on his feet before you know it.”

“Yes,” Bruce signaled. This time, he was able to open both his eyes wide enough to see both Dick and Clark smiling down at him. They were joined by Alfred a second later.  His heart swelled as a single thought broke through the fog in his mind—

_My family._

 

******************

“Dick’s better at this than I thought he’d be,” Clark said, handing Bruce a glass of lemonade before settling onto the porch swing beside him. “He’s a natural with the horses.”

“I knew he would be,” Bruce said, making more room for Clark on the small bench. It was a tight squeeze, but he didn’t mind Clark’s solid bulk pressed tightly against him, especially when Clark slung a casual arm around his shoulder. “He told me he missed the animals at the circus. I figured the farm would be the next best place.”

Bruce watched as Dick eased the Kents’ American quarter horse from a trot into a canter, a wide smile on his face. Jonathan Kent rode beside him on his own appaloosa mare, keeping pace with the boy but not interfering with the ride. Dick had told him that he’d been taught to ride by the trick riders at the circus, and after he’d proven he knew the basics of how to approach and mount the horse, Jonathan had agreed to let him ride. So, far, he hadn’t disappointed.

“I haven’t seen him this happy in weeks,” Clark said.

Bruce grunted in agreement. He was feeling pretty damn happy himself, which was strangely uncomfortable. He kept waiting for his wrist comm to ping, summon him and Dick away from this idyllic peace and back into Gotham’s dark struggle. So far so quiet, though, and Bruce forced himself to just enjoy this stolen summer afternoon with Clark’s parents.

Inside, he could hear Martha humming to herself as she bustled in the kitchen, preparing another of her exceptional meals. Bruce could smell the roasting chicken from the oven, and the sweet tang of cherry pie cooling on the windowsill. Seriously—on the windowsill. He thought it was just a movie cliché until he met the Kents.

“This is good for Dick,” Bruce said quietly. “Getting him out in the country, away from…everything.”

“I agree. We should try to do this more often. Give him a sense of connectedness.”

“Connectedness?” Bruce asked, looking at Clark quizzically.

Clark’s cheeks flushed. “Y’know...a sense of belonging outside of just us and Alfred. He’s the closest thing to a grandkid as my parents are going to get.”

Bruce nodded, a slight laugh vibrating his throat. Grandkid. He hadn’t really thought it of it like that, but he supposed Clark was right. Perhaps, then, it was time to discuss the next stage of his plan with Clark.

“I’m thinking of adopting him. Legally,” Bruce said.

“Really?” Clark stopped with his glass of lemonade halfway to his lips. “Wow. That…that would be a big step. He would become your heir. Your…son.”

“I know.” Bruce’s heart began to pound, and he forced himself to calm. “I’ve already been looking into the paperwork.”

“Have you talked with him about it?”

“Not yet. I will, soon. I wanted to run it by you first.”

“Well, I think it’s a good idea. For both of you.” Clark gave him a wide smile, though Bruce could tell there was reservation behind his eyes.

“There’s something I needed to ask you first, though.” Bruce’s heart beat even faster.

“Oh?”

“I want to appoint you as his guardian in the event of my death.”

Clark’s breath sucked in, hard. “Bruce, you’re being para—”

“Practical. My line of work is dangerous, Clark. You know this better than anyone. If something happens to me, then he becomes a ward of the state again. I can’t let that happen to Dick. He deserves stability. Security.” Bruce took a long drink from his lemonade. “I know we’ve talked at length about what you feel Clark Kent can and cannot do legally, given your longevity: own property, marriage, etcetera. However, this would only be necessary until Dick is eighteen. He would be my primary beneficiary, but you would be his guardian. His parent.”

“What about Alfred?” Clark asked.

Bruce shook his head. “I considered him. He’s getting older, though, and I don’t think he’d be able to handle the…the repetition of history.”

“Gotcha.” Clark looked back out at Dick and his father, who were maneuvering the horses around the barn.

“You can think about it, of cour—”

“I’ll do it,” Clark said quietly. “Absolutely.”

Bruce’s heart expanded, warm relief washing through his belly. He couldn’t give Dick what he most deserved—a living, breathing mother and father to love and care for him—but Bruce could give him the best he could: a home, a future, a family.

“You know, I was thinking,” Clark said, interrupting Bruce’s thoughts, “of maybe starting to keep some stuff of my own at the Manor.”

Bruce’s heart leapt in excitement. Clark had begun spending the night again a few months ago, but only on rare occasions.

“Oh?” Bruce asked, keeping his tone light. “You finally running out of room in that apartment of yours?”

“Something like that. Too many clothes, books, dishes. Maybe I’ll put up my autographed Metropolis Meteors pennant up in your bedroom.”

Bruce snorted. “It’ll look great next to the Monet.”

“Wait, is that a _real_ Monet?” Clark’s brow furrowed incredulously.

Bruce shot him an exasperated look. “Clark, love, do you really want to know?”

“No. I don’t.” Clark shook his head and drained his glass. “You really do trust Dick, dearest.”

“Of course I do,” Bruce said. He’d trusted Dick with his home, his life, his deepest secret. It hadn’t been easy, but Bruce understood Dick in a way he’d understood few people. He’d seen Dick’s heart, and wounded though it was, Bruce had seen the light, the goodness, the desire to help. He reminded him of, well, of Clark, and Clark was the most trustworthy person Bruce knew. “You think he’s going to try to off me for my fortune?”

“No,” Clark chuckled, “because he knows he’d have me to deal with if anything ever happened to you.”

“Now you see my master plan.” Bruce gave Clark a sardonic smile. He was only half-joking.

They settled back into the bench in silence, and Bruce lowered his head to Clark’s shoulder. If anyone had asked Bruce eighteen months ago if he’d ever seen himself as a father, he would’ve laughed in their face. Now, though, with Dick in his life, he knew there was no other path he’d rather walk—especially if Clark was going to join him on it.

“Maybe you should adopt more kids,” Clark said in a joking tone. “I mean, you have the space at the manor, and Dick could use some siblings someday. You could be one of those celebrity parents, like Madonna or Brad and Angelina.”

“No,” Bruce said firmly. “One kid is definitely enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to take this opportunity to thank every single one of my readers. I wish I could write request stories for each and every one of you. Thanks especially to those of you who have followed along over the years, and who have let me know just how much you've enjoyed reading my version of Bruce and Clark. Your comments and kudos have kept me writing.
> 
> I'm saying this because this may most likely be the last story in this series (or any series). My life is going to change very drastically in the next few weeks (in a good way!), and I know that I will not have time for writing for a looooong while. That being said, I am attempting to finish up one last SuperBat piece before I go, but there's always the chance I won't finish in time. So, in case I didn't get a chance to finish, I wanted to say "thank you" and "see you later" while I had the opportunity. Not, "good-bye" though--I will always love writing these guys and this 'verse, so there is always the chance I will be back for more down the line. Until then, happy trails everyone.


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